


Paper Roses

by quartetship



Series: Swim Trunks [4]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Also this opens mid-blowjob, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Fluff and Smut, M/M, So don't say I didn't warn you, Valentine's Day, Wet & Messy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-19
Updated: 2015-02-19
Packaged: 2018-03-13 17:11:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3389690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quartetship/pseuds/quartetship
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Soft sighing. Broken, breathless moans. The slick slide of skin on skin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Paper Roses

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ohsnapCiera](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohsnapCiera/gifts).



> The fourth installment of the Swim Trunks series. :)
> 
> My apologies for the wonky formatting, particularly with the texts. AO3 wouldn't cooperate. Hope it's not too distracting!
> 
> Please note - as always - that both boys are 18 here. ALSO, this piece opens mid-sex, specifically mid-messy blowjob, so I felt the need to warn you guys before reading. Other than that, enjoy!
> 
> \--

_Soft sighing. Broken, breathless moans. The slick slide of skin on skin._

“You look so good right now, Jean. So beautiful.”

Marco looked down at Jean from behind the screen of his phone, eyes heavy and fingers shaking as they carded through sweat-damp hair. He swirled them gently, then _tugged_ , the stinging contrast enough to wring a gasp out of Jean as he let Marco pull his head back, just out of reach of his gorgeously slick cock. “Love making messes all over your pretty face.”

“Please give it back, baby. Please, please, pl--” Marco cut Jean’s chanting short with a slap of his dick, smacked against lips that tried desperately to wrap around him, even as he pulled it away again. He landed it wetly across Jean’s face again, against his flushed cheek before sliding the head teasingly through the slickness dripping over Jean’s quivering lips. Jean _loved_ turning himself over to Marco, letting himself go, mindless as he took whatever mess Marco might make of him. He flicked his tongue out to capture what he could before breathing another plea, a mindless, wordless whimper.

Marco obliged him with a rattling moan, tossing Jean’s phone across his bed. “Oh, god - like _that.”_ His control cracked as Jean hollowed cheeks around him, still teasing him with his tongue. “I’m so close, Jean - w’you want me to do?”

Jean blinked up at him, reluctant to pull off of his cock, even long enough to speak. When he finally replied, his voice was coarse, rough from taking Marco as deep as he could manage. “I want it, wanna taste you.”

There was little more Marco could do but nod, thighs shaking under Jean’s hands. He rocked his hips in time with Jean’s head, keening little moans escaping with every move until he was shaking apart. _“F-fuck,_ okay - here it comes, baby.”

That was all the warning he had to spare, jerking his hips once more before spilling hot into Jean’s mouth. Jean moaned, taking everything Marco had to give, and making a show of swallowing around him. Marco pulled out of his mouth and smeared what was left of the mess across Jean’s lips, Jean licking them clean without protest, unblinking as he stared up at him. He wasn’t sure he’d perfected the same smolder Marco so effortlessly used on him, but he did know that Marco had a weakness for seeing him messy. Almost as much as he had for _being_ messy.

“You’re a disaster.” Marco bit both lips as he slumped back onto his bed, still unable to keep a broad smile at bay. He smacked around on the bed for Jean’s phone, snapping a few more pictures while Jean was still a recovering wreck. Finally, he tossed Jean a hand towel and sighed happily. “A beautiful, perfect disaster.”

Jean raised an eyebrow, peeking from behind the cloth his face was still half-buried in. “Your fault, not mine.” Marco snorted.

“Pretty sure you were a willing participant, actually.”

“Oh, _god_ yeah.” Jean tossed the towel across the room, hissing triumphantly when he hit the hamper on his first attempt. “S’just too bad that your parents get home soon, or I’d be game for round two.”

“I could try returning the favor, real quick.” Marco motioned down to where Jean’s erection was straining obviously against the catch of his pants. Jean plucked his phone from Marco’s hand and glanced at the time, shaking his head with a defeated sigh.

“No time. I don’t finish _that_ quick.”

Marco grinned. “S’at a challenge?”

“A statement of fact,” Jean corrected, although he could tell by the look on Marco’s face that he would live to regret saying it. “Trust me, I don’t wanna go, yet. Or ever, at all.” He stood to tuck his clothes back into their proper orientations, wary of Marco’s family arriving home early and catching him with his shirt unbuttoned. _Again._

Marco caught him by the hand and tugged him into his lap, hugging too tightly, the plyful cling he always used when Jean was about to leave. “Mm, I don’t want you to go, either. But hey - we have Friday.”

“Friday.” Jean repeated, mood plummeting quickly. “Right. Valentine’s Day.”

He pulled one of Marco’s blankets into his lap, pulling at a loose seam and avoiding Marco’s eyes. Marco settled beside him anyway, tucking the blanket over his own bare legs, as well.

“Everything okay?”

Jean sucked in a breath and held it for a moment, exhaling on a sharp shake of his head. “Yeah. Just stupid shit, don’t worry about it.”

“You can talk to me about ‘stupid shit’, remember? That’s what da-- _this ‘us thing’_ \- that’s what it means, right?” The fact that Marco corrected himself - that Jean knew _exactly_ what he had meant to say, but that they’d both had to train themselves not to say it - stung. He drew his face into a tight scowl, his jaw set hard to keep it from shaking.

“Yeah. Sorry. I just... kinda wanna do something that day. I guess.”

Marco sat up straighter, pulling away. “Well, you don’t _have_ to come by that night. If you’d rather - you can--”

“No, I mean - I wanna do something with _you.”_ Jean grabbed him by the waist, pressing his face to the flushed skin of his shoulder and grumbling in something that wasn’t quite language. Marco reached up to run fingers through his hair, his touch all softness.

“Well... that’s the plan, isn’t it?” There was a suggestive upturn in his voice, and a quiet laugh.

“That’s _not--”_ Jean wrestled with his words, out of practice at saying what he really meant. “I don’t just wanna _have sex_ withyou, Marco. I wanna do something fun together. Like an actual date. Something special.” Embarrassment flamed his face, and he buried it in the bend where Marco’s shoulder met his neck, mumbling an apology. “Sorry. I know it’s stupid - I _told_ you it was. I just... wanna be your _boyfriend.”_

“You _are_ my boyfriend.” Marco’s voice was soft, but the practiced propriety was gone, nothing but raw truth in his words. It was a tone he reserved for Jean, alone. It was a tone that set Jean’s heartbeat stuttering - it was the real Marco. _His_ Marco.

“But no one else knows that,” Jean mumbled. “So what’s it matter?” It was becoming harder to keep his voice steady at full volume. Marco dropped his fingers from Jean’s hair, reaching to cup his hands instead.

“Because they _can’t_ right now. You know as well as I do what my parents will do when they find out. But _we_ know, and _that’s_ what matters. We’ve just gotta make it ‘til graduation, and then we’re gold. We can do that. We talked about it, remember? Just a few more months.”

They _had_ talked about it. Numerous times. Jean had a book full of notes, tucked under his bed, pages full of words of promise Marco would write for him, to remind him that their struggles wouldn’t be their end. It was the kind of thing Jean would’ve made fun of someone for a year ago, and the kind of thing he was glad no one else knew about. But the teenage vows of ‘forever’ on those handwritten pages were what he always returned to, when he didn’t have the chance to hear them from Marco’s mouth. Because even when he did, it felt like a half truth. Like he could only return half of the sentiment, without risking losing all of it.

“I know.” Jean squeezed his fingers over Marco’s, clinging tightly to the hands holding his. “I know, I know. I don’t even know why it’s buggin’ me. Just feel like we’re missin out. Like you’re missing out, because of me.”

“The only way I’ll miss out on anything is if you don’t show up that night.” Marco smiled, that big, believable grin of his, and Jean felt the tightness in his chest begin to release. “I have exactly what I want. I don’t need anything heart-shaped to remind me of the fact that I love you. I think about it every day.” He leaned in to kiss Jean, his smile contagious as he pressed it against Jean’s lips.

“Mm, likewise,” Jean hummed, pulling back only to look at him, to give his chest room to swell with the affection he couldn’t stamp down. “I dunno _how_ the hell I lucked into landing you, but I’m a lucky son of a bitch.”

Marco smirked. “Don’t talk about your mom that way.”

“Eh, I only mean it when she’s bein’ a nag.” Marco snorted at that, both of them well aware that Jean would _never_ have the nerve to say something like that to his mother. “Speaking of my folks, I’d better head home. Wouldn’t wanna get locked out and be forced to crash with you.”

Marco snickered under his breath, standing when Jean did and pulling his boxers and pants back on. “Oh, yeah. You really seemed like you hated that, last time.”

“Hey - do you know how hard it was to be quiet with you going down on me, and your damned _parents_ in the next room?” Jean hooked fingers into Marco’s belt loops and pulled their hips together roughly, growling. “You had me fucking _praying_ we didn’t get caught.”

“Noted for next time,” Marco grinned. He kissed the tip of Jean’s nose, effectively dusting the mood in sugar before sending him on his way for the evening. “Be safe getting home, okay? Text me.”

Jean nodded, backing through the door of his bedroom with one final, fond glance at him.

“Always.”

\--

The day before Valentine’s Day was a _horrible_ time to find oneself at any store, especially a crowded super-center, full of desperate husbands and forgetful boyfriends. Jean eyed them with a mix of annoyance and contempt, if only because part of him wished to _be_ one of them. He wondered what kind of gifts Marco would even like, if he were allowed to buy him any. But it was a moot point, and he shook the thoughts from his head and pulled out his mother’s grocery list, wading through the crowd of last-minute shoppers.

“Hey Jean, how’re you doin’?”

A familiar voice brought his eyes back up from the floor. Sasha Braus – a mutual friend of his and Marco’s - smiled at him, waving from her place standing in front of picked-over racks of cards. “You shopping for anybody special?”

“Just pickin’ up groceries for my parents,” Jean replied. He was too irritated to outright lie - to say he didn’t _have_ someone special to be shopping for - so he opted to sidestep the question. “I’m not here for any of this stuff.”

Sasha nodded, her expression maybe a little apologetic. “Gotcha. I’m mostly only getting Connie something because it’s the thing to do. He doesn’t really like this kinda thing, to be honest. But I know he got me stuff, so here I am, winning my worst girlfriend award, shopping the night before.”

Jean sighed, letting his words fall without bothering to worry about how they sounded. “Least you guys _can_ get each other stuff.” On the shelves behind where Sasha stood browsing for bags, there were packages of ribbons, bows and tissue paper. Jean eyed them for a moment before snagging a massive stack of tissue and dropping it nonchalantly into his basket, an idea taking shape in his mind.

“Yeah.” Sasha nodded and eyed him curiously for a brief moment, shrugging her smile back into place before reaching out to pat his arm. “Well I’ll let you get back to your shopping. It was good to see you!”

“Yeah,” Jean waved, watching her walk away before peeking back down at the pouch of paper in the basket. “Yeah, you too.”

\--

_Six hours._

That was how long it took Jean to twist each sheet of tissue into a perfect paper rose.

It might not have taken quite so long, if he hadn’t spent nearly an hour searching for the best YouTube tutorial, and then trying to remember what he’d just learned when a heavy rainstorm robbed him of his internet connection. It was fitting, that in a season known for its beautiful snow, the scene outside Jean’s window was nothing but drab wetness. He ignored the flicker of the lights in his bedroom, and went about learning to fold paper.

Between practicing a few dozen times before finally getting the hang of it, and pretending to be sleeping when his mother poked her head in to tell him goodnight, he got a bit of a late start. Dinner was also a factor, as was chatting with Marco, even as he attempted his first few flowers, trying not to drop any hints of what he was doing. But by the time he went to bed - less than an hour before his alarm was due to go off - he had a massive bag full of carefully folded paper flowers.

He put them in the back of his car before leaving for school, careful to avoid his parents and any possible questions.

\--

School was just as irritating as Jean had assumed it would be; couples ogled each other across lunch tables and in the halls. Marco’s sugary, hushed _‘good morning, sweetheart’_ was enough to set him on edge for the rest of the day, desperately wishing he could throw an arm around Marco, the way their classmates hung on each other as they walked between buildings and classrooms.

Marco deserved to be loved like that - _worshiped,_ for everyone to see - and Jean wasn’t _allowed_ to. He was admittedly a complete ass from first period onward, snapping and almost growling at nearly everyone who tried to speak to him. Except for Marco, who even in Jean’s worst moods, got some unexplainable pass on being snipped at. Staring at him from across a noisy lunch table, Jean reminded himself that they had the entire evening together. It was enough to get him through the day without committing a major crime.

Just barely.

\--

The texts started right at six o’clock, and Jean grinned smugly at the knowledge that Marco was obviously as eager as he was.

 

From: Marco

6:02 PM

They’ve already been gone for like fifteen minutes, your game is off.

 

Jean parked quietly, grabbed the bag from his backseat, and tried hard not to laugh as he imagined Marco fidgeting inside the house. The rain was back, just enough of an unpleasant drizzle to dampen Jean’s enthusiasm slightly as he tried to move the fragile flowers from his car to Marco’s. He popped the back door - the one with the broken lock - open just enough to wiggle inside, out of the rain. He pulled his phone from his pocket to silence Marco’s repeated variations of the ‘where are you’ text.

From: Jean

6:05 PM

I’ve been outside for like ten of those minutes, dick. Give me a second.

 

A response came before Jean could untie the strings of the bag.

 

From: Marco

6:05 PM

Why are you outside?? I’m coming out there!

 

Jean frantically texted back, eyeing the window of the house, hoping Marco wasn’t already peeking out of it.

 

From: Jean

6:06 PM

DON’T. I’ll be in there in five seconds, just hold on.

 

Marco responded with a line of sad emojis, but didn’t press Jean any further. Jean took the opportunity to go to work, spreading the flowers over all four seats of Marco’s car, and everywhere else they bothered to land. The humidity of the rain had rippled the edges of the paper just a touch, giving the flowers a more realistic appearance, and Jean couldn’t help grinning at them as he pulled the last few from the bag. They might not have been a flashy, fragrant bouquet, but there were a lot of them, and they were really kind of cool.

He hoped Marco would agree, pushing from his mind the possibility that he’d just laugh the whole thing off. If anyone would appreciate the effort, it would be Marco. Jean just hoped Marco’s parents didn’t see the car before he did.

Marco met him at the door, all but jumping on top of him and pulling him into the house by the collar of his jacket. Jean gladly allowed the attention, hoping Marco would be distracted enough by smothering him to forget why he’d been late.

No such luck.

“Seriously - what were you doing outside?” Marco prodded him, fingers already busy with the zipper of Jean’s jacket. Jean shrugged it from his shoulders and smiled.

“I left you a thing. In your car.” As soon as Jean said it, Marco’s eyes went almost as wide as his smile, but Jean caught his arm and held it, insistent. “But you can’t go look at it, yet. You’ve gotta wait.”

“Oh. Okay,” Marco conceded, obviously willing to play Jean’s game. He looked out the window and grinned around the lip he was chewing on. “Glad to see you, anyway.”

Jean pulled him back by the arm, tucking it under his own and letting Marco press their bodies close. “Likewise.”

Marco bumped his nose against Jean’s and hummed happily. “I have a surprise too, y’know.” He threw a glance over his shoulder toward his bedroom, grinning wider. Jean huffed.

“We _said_ no presents.”

“And _you_ apparently broke that rule, so I’m not in trouble.” Marco poked his tongue out, Jean leaning up to nip at it before grumbling again.

“Okay, but - I didn’t break it, exactly, I--”

“Just come here.” Marco tugged Jean after him down the short hallway, around the corner and into his room. On the bed was a white paper box, simply wrapped with a red ribbon. Jean flopped down onto Marco’s bed and pulled it into his lap, popping it open. The deep, rich smell of chocolate filled the room before Jean’s eyes could even catch up. He glanced up at Marco, hovering in the doorway and staring back at him, anxiously.

“Candy?” Jean lifted one of the small squares from the box, eyeing it for a moment before popping it into his mouth. Marco nodded.

“I made it.” He crossed the room and came to settle beside Jean, hands tucked under himself as he sat. “I know, it’s probably not perfect. But I figured that wasn’t technically _buying_ you a gift, so - here you go.”

Jean nodded. “It’s... really _good,_ actually.”

“I like that tone of surprise.” Marco prodded his knee against Jean’s, rolling his eyes despite his grin. “As if I don’t always cook for us.”

“I just didn’t know you could make candy. Sorry, Willy Wonka.”

“Do me a favor, and never call me that again,” Marco said through a hard grimace. Jean _cackled._

“Only if you make me more of this sometime,” he agreed, dropping another piece into his mouth as he lay back across Marco’s lap. “This shit is delicious.”

“Glad to hear it.” Marco smiled down at him fondly, tucking a few stray strands of hair behind Jean’s ear, and running his thumb over the skin there.

“Have you had any?” Jean asked, pointing at the box. Marco shrugged and shook his head.

“Not really. I’m not a big fan of chocolate, but I knew you liked it, so--”

Jean stared at him with mock insult, reaching for another piece of chocolate. “You gotta try this, though. It’s amazing.” He put it between his teeth and held it. “Want some?” Marco bit back a smirk and leaned down.

“Maybe just a little.”

He closed the space between their mouths, pushing the chocolate into Jean’s mouth with his tongue and letting it melt there. Jean kissed him slowly, happy to lie back and let Marco taste the sweetness on his lips. Cradled in Marco’s lap, fingers sliding into between Marco’s as their hands found each other, Jean sighed, perfectly content for a moment. When Marco pulled away, his lips shone with sugary slickness.

“Good?” Jean whispered, face split by an ear-to-ear grin. He slid his tongue along his bottom lip, Marco watching him, words quiet between shallow breaths.

“Very.”

Jean grabbed the slack of Marco’s shirt, using it to pull himself up and into Marco’s lap properly. “You’re so good to me, babe. You know that?” He settled so that he could look down at Marco, fingers coming up to scratch gently through dark hair. “Sweeter than this fucking candy.”

_“You’re_ the one that’s sweet right now,” Marco hummed, nipping at Jean’s candy-coated lip before pulling him down for another kiss. Jean wriggled against him, shrugging.

“Occupational hazard.”

“Of what, exactly?” Marco grinned. Jean scratched pleasant patterns across his scalp and laughed.

“Dating _you.”_

Marco ran hands down Jean’s sides, over his thighs before resting them on his ass, under the guise of pulling him forward. Jean circled his hips, making a show of wiggling in Marco’s hands. When Marco swatted him, Jean leaned down to lick playfully at his ear, and Marco _giggled_ at the way it tickled. Something about that sweet little laugh clenched Jean’s chest; pulling back to look down at him properly, he was overcome with affection for his sweet, perfect, _secret_ boyfriend.

“You deserve so much, babe. _So much_ , and - I can’t even give it to you.” He dropped kisses onto Marco’s neck, spreading them over his shoulders before returning to cup his face.

“You give me plenty.” Marco insisted, turning his face to press kisses into Jean’s palms. “Everything I want.”

“I wanna do _more.”_ Jean huffed. “I wanna do all the stupid mushy bullshit that every other couple does. I wanna hold your hand and kiss you in the hallway and wear your clothes, and... _everything._ And I wanna show you that I love you more than any of those assholes love each other. I just wanna _show_ you.”

Marco nodded almost frantically, tugging his shirt over his head in one quick move. “Then show me.”

Jean grinned at his eagerness, rolling his hips once before moving to stand. “I’m gonna.”

The long, ragged sigh the came from Marco as he watched Jean undress was enough of a reward, all on its own. He looked incredible, eyes already blown wide, sitting on his hands and _savaging_ his lip to keep at bay the tiny, needy sounds already escaping him. Jean wasn’t much of a dancer, but he sure as hell made an effort to fake it, swaying as he slid his belt from its loops, dropping his pants to the floor to join his discarded shirt. He dropped to his knees between Marco’s legs, prying them gently apart to make room for himself between them.

“Seein’ me like this do things for you?” He pulled his most wicked grin, taking his time unzipping Marco’s jeans, but wasting none in pulling his dick from the confines of his boxers. He didn’t even bother pretending he wasn’t groping Marco’s ass as he slid his underwear down to the floor beside his own clothes. Marco choked on his words.

“You know it does,” he hissed, watching Jean as he licked his lips teasingly. “That, and hearing you get worked up. Especially over me.”

“You’re about the only thing that gets me worked up,” Jean said honestly. He dragged the slick head of Marco’s cock across his bottom lip, never dropping his burning gaze. Marco swallowed hard, breath already hitching.

“Good to know.”

Jean was careful of his teeth, and not much else, more than ready to get messy as he took Marco into his mouth. The only breaks he took were to catch his breath, still necessary as he learned how to take more of Marco at once. When he did pull his mouth away, it was to press teeth into salty skin, leaving pink and red marks blooming across Marco’s hips and thighs. He scattered them like rose petals, laving his tongue over each one before moving to make the next. But he returned after each to Marco’s dick, dragging his mouth in a searing trail up one leg or the other before swallowing around him again. Marco rolled up to meet the gentle bobbing of his head, matching him move for move, getting him just close enough to choking for his eyes to sting pleasantly.

“Jean, baby - _how_ are you so good at this?” He sighed his words - reverently - hands too busy propping him up to tease Jean with his dick. That didn’t stop them from making a mess; Jean let it fall from his mouth, lined his lips with the soaked head and let the precome slicking it streak his face before taking Marco back down his throat. Marco brought a hand up to slap over his own mouth on reflex, the other struggling to keep him upright as he tried to remember how to breathe.

Jean grinned around his mouthful, relaxing as much as he could to take Marco deeper, feel his moans rattling in his own chest.

Through the wetness dripping down Marco’s length, Jean slid his thumb, trailing it over soft, slick, _sensitive_ skin until he came to press against the tight ring of Marco’s entrance. He brushed over it gently, hesitantly, glancing up at Marco before moving further. He pulled off of his cock with a sloppy, drawn out lick.

“Do you mind if I...?”

Marco nodded and pressed back against him for a moment, enjoying the friction that set his body pulsing. “Yeah, yeah, just - check under my mattress.”

Jean knew what he was looking for. A tiny, half-empty bottle of lubricant, tucked well away under Marco’s bed. When he found it he wasted no time, popping the cap with his teeth and slicking a generous coating over two of his fingers, before settling back between Marco’s legs. He pushed Marco back a bit, circling his entrance with both fingers and waiting for his hips to stop their eager, involuntary twitching long enough to know that Marco was comfortable - ready - before pressing his first finger inside of him.

_“Jeannn.”_

The tendency to whine noisily when Jean first pressed into him was one Marco had never been able to stifle, and Jean was glad for it. Even once his fingers were both sliding easily in and out of Marco, he teased his stretched entrance with his thumb, setting Marco grinding back unevenly, desperate for more.

“Hmm?” Jean taunted him, prompting him to speak, before dropping his mouth back down to wrap around Marco’s cock, robbing him of the ability to finish a sentence.

“God, that feels - it’s s-so _good._ I can’t--” He rocked back, thrust forward, unable to decide if he needed Jean’s mouth or his fingers more. “I can’t even figure out what to fucking do, I’m just... _ohhhshit.”_ His head rolled back and he struggled to stay upright, Jean using his free hand to grab him by the hip and hold him in place as best he could. Marco bucked up mindlessly into Jean’s mouth, whines becoming something deeper, more feral. And then a halt.

“Baby, stop - _stop,_ please!” It was a startled gasp, scaring Jean still.

“You okay?!” Jean’s hands froze in place, steady despite fear. Marco sat up and nodded, easing it away.

“Yes, I just need you. _You_ \- not your hands.”

In an instant, Jean found his voice again, lips curling into a smirk as he ghosted them across Marco’s twitching thighs. “You want my dick, baby?” He asked, smoothing his tongue over one of the marks he’d left. “You want me to fuck you?”

“I want you to _make love_ to me.” The sincerity in Marco’s words stopped them both for a moment. They never really said things like that to each other - never had the luxury. Marco swallowed his obvious reservations and let his hands find Jean’s. “Please.”

Jean kissed the hand in his, nodding. “However you want it, baby.”

He raked fingers up Marco’s thighs and back down again, grinning at the way Marco twisted in place at the sting of the pink streaks forming there. Jean kissed each line of reddened flesh, smoothing them away attentively, following them with the dotted impressions of fingertips, pressing hard into the skin as he moved to return his mouth to Marco’s forgotten cock. A hand cupped his chin, stopping him mid-motion, and tilted his head up so that a flustered Marco could look down at him.

“Could I... be on top?”

“You wanna top?” Jean asked, a little confused. “I – I mean, I’ve never _done_ that, before - but if you want me t--”

Marco shook his head frantically. “No, I mean – would it be okay if - can I _ride_ you?”

It took Jean’s brain a moment to register what Marco had said, to reconcile the fact that those words had actually come from his boyfriend’s mouth. “Oh _god, yes_ babe.” He nuzzled his nose against the overheated skin of Marco’s inner thigh, rubbing circles over the other with his open palm. “Are you sure you’re up to that, though? We’ve never--”

“Yeah, I’ve... actually been wanting to for weeks, I just…” Marco interjected, trailing off and shifting again under Jean’s look of surprise. _“Please?”_

For the second time, just that night, Jean was momentarily speechless. By then, he should have been used to the way Marco would knock his head sideways sometimes, reminding him that he wasn’t the naive mass of sweetness he presented to his parents and others. At times when they were alone together, Marco was capable of rendering him unable to express how enamored he was, how much he loved and adored Marco, and how much he _wanted_ him. Jean nodded.

“Anything you want,” he breathed. Marco ran a hand through his hair before reaching down to pull Jean up into his lap.

“I want _you.”_

Jean sat on their folded legs, covering Marco in reassuring kisses, giving him a moment just in case he changed his mind. But there was an electric undercurrent of urgency, from the heat of Marco’s hardness pressed against him, to the fervor of their fingers, exploring skin they’d already well mapped before. When Marco reached beneath them, trying to pry his hand beneath his mattress without disrupting the rain of nibbles and kisses, Jean took the hint, reluctantly wiggling from his lap to retrieve the near-spent strip of condoms stashed there.

“Need to get some more of these,” he grinned, tearing into the last unopened packet.

Marco nodded, but as he watched Jean slip the condom from the wrapper and finally step out of his boxers, he swallowed - silent - and it stopped Jean in place.

“Hey, hey - you alright?” He climbed back onto the bed beside Marco, slipping an arm around his waist. Marco nodded again.

“Just want this to be good for you, too.” He turned to press his forehead against Jean’s. “It’s not all about me.”

“It is tonight, as far as I’m concerned,” Jean argued. “Besides - nothing turns me on more than turning _you_ on. So as long as you’re into it, this is how I want it, too.”

He waited, looking back at Marco confidently, until Marco returned his smile and climbed into his lap. They laughed against each other’s lips, hands twisted in hair and legs tangled, until Marco knocked him gently backward, climbing onto him to settle on his hips, grinding down against Jean’s dick. Giggles gave way to groaning as the air escaped Jean’s lungs. He nodded his approval, hands scrabbling at Marco’s back for more of that perfect friction.

Marco snatched the condom from Jean, wiggling back onto his knees to make room to roll it onto him. He slicked Jean with another generous handful of lube, reaching down to spread the excess over his own hardness, giving himself a few lazy strokes before scooting forward again, hovering over Jean to line up their bodies.

“Ready?” He asked, quiet and wavering. Jean reached up to stroke a thumb over his chin, along his jaw, before returning his grip to Marco’s hips, ready to guide him.

“Whenever you are, baby.”

Marco braced himself on his knees, legs wide set as he circled the head of Jean’s cock around his relaxed entrance. He sucked in a deep, sharp, breath, sinking as slowly as his body would allow, mumbling Jean’s name in a shaky chant as he did. Jean watched him, already a disheveled mess, transfixed.

“You okay?” He held Marco’s hips, letting him bottom out at his own pace.

“It’s so much _bigger_ from this angle,” Marco panted, brows knit and face tinted a gorgeous shade of pink as he circled his hips, trying to relax. “I just need a minute, okay?”

Jean nodded, smoothing hands over tense muscles. “Anything.” Willing himself to remain still, he glanced over at the mirror on Marco’s dresser, across from where they lay, and caught sight of the two of them. He could barely see himself, but Marco was _perfectly_ visible, perfectly gorgeous as he braced himself on Jean’s bent knees, chest heaving. “God, Marco - do you even understand how beautiful you are? Especially like this - spread out so I can see all of you. I need this, baby. I need more of this, need it all the time, need _you.”_

Marco groaned, every part of him tight as he let his hips tilt back and forth, adjusting to the way Jean filled him. Finally, his expression began to soften, to lose the hard look of focus, giving him over to a dazed smile. Jean gave a tiny snap of his hips, just to hear Marco gasp, watching him chase the feeling as he stilled himself again.

“You ready?” Jean asked. Marco splayed hands across his chest, humming his cautious approval.

“Slow,” he breathed. Jean nodded.

_“Slow.”_

They barely moved for a few moments, Marco circling his hips, hissing at the way Jean stretched him. Jean relinquished control to Marco, completely. He ran hands soothingly down Marco’s sides and legs, only rolling up into him when Marco seemed ready for it.

“Feel good?” Jean asked, breathing stuttered as he wrestled to maintain their achingly slow pace. Marco nodded.

“Feels _amazing.”_ He lifted himself, back arching beautifully and mouth falling open on a sigh as he dropped back down. “You always feel _so damn good._ I was _made_ for this, baby. Made for _you.”_

Once Marco found his balance, he slid hands up Jean’s front, over tense abs, across his chest, pinning his arms above his head to lace their fingers together. It was careful, gentle, but unmistakable - Marco was very much in control, and his wordless reminder of that had Jean’s breath catching in his throat. He leaned up to press whispered love against Marco’s shaking arms, messy kisses that tickled Marco just enough to have him laughing.

“What’re _you_ smirking at?” He pouted, though his lips turned up at the corners. Jean shrugged as best he could, arms still held down above him.

“Can’t look at you without smiling.”

Marco stared at him, features blank for a moment, tightening his fingers between Jean’s. He leaned down to kiss him - harder, hungrier - whispering against his face, _“I love you.”_

The world shifted sharply around Jean for a moment as Marco pulled him upright by his hands, wrapping legs around him as he settled in his lap. Moans echoed off the walls, rattled both their chests, pressed together as Marco whimpered, feeling out the new angle. It afforded Jean a better look at him, at the bites and bruises flowering across his legs, and the flushed, freckled skin of his shoulders and chest - unmarked.

Jean loved the way Marco’s skin tasted, especially with a sheen of sweat that he knew he’d put there. Dragging lips and tongue across that skin was never neat; Marco liked being made into a mess almost as much as Jean did. Dropping bruising kisses onto his collarbone as Marco shifted in his lap, Jean was reminded of one of their only rules, with a mewling little whine from Marco.

“Not the neck.”

“You don’t like the neck, anyway,” Jean grinned, before raising another bruise. He left marks where only Marco would see them, a field of hidden flowers. “Want you thinkin’ of me when you’re _alone_ \- in the shower, in _bed.”_

Jean grazed teeth over already reddened skin. Marco dropped his head into the crook of Jean’s shoulder, panting against his ear.

_“Bite_ me, baby - _hard._ Wanna remember where you’ve been.”

He did, covering Marco’s shoulders in shades of rose. Marco hissed and whimpered at each one, begging for another and another, until he was _painted_ purple and pink. Jean let his head drop back onto the mess of blankets under him, looking at the artwork he’d left on Marco’s skin. Maybe he couldn’t let _everyone_ know how insanely in love he was with Marco, but he could sure as hell ensure that _Marco_ knew, and that he’d remember long after Valentine’s Day had passed.

With Marco straddling him, neither of them could move the way they were used to. It wasn’t the frenzied, frantic, _pounding_ pace Marco usually liked; every move was deeper, slower, and Jean’s eyes slid back and forth between the breathtaking sight above him, and the work of art moving in the mirror.

_“Look_ at us, baby. Look at how fucking _perfect_ we are.” Jean stilled them just enough, dug his fingers into Marco’s thighs, holding him in place and jerking his chin toward the mirror on the dresser. Marco looked hazily in the direction Jean was motioning, groaning with abandon when he caught sight of their reflection.

_“Told_ you I was made for doing this with you,” he moaned. He sat up, leaning back and letting Jean resume his steady pace, letting Jean _look_ at him. Jean grabbed at Marco’s sides, holding onto what was left of his control, as well - Marco made that an almost impossible feat.

“Don’t hold back anymore, baby – please, _fuck me, fuckmefuckmefuckme.”_

Jean tore his hands from Marco’s legs, fisting his fingers in the sheets and murmuring nonsensical praises. Marco was heavy on his hips, insanely hot and tight and _incredible,_ and when he reached down to claw at Jean’s chest - leaving ribbons of bright red, vining down his stomach and sides - Jean’s hand returned to the curve of his ass with a sharp slap.

They set a breathless pace, then - Jean finally moving the way he wanted, hips slamming upward and Marco taking every thrust with a stuttered, profane chorus of Jean’s name. Blush bloomed over his face, his shoulders, his chest, until he was sweating, shining, _glowing._ For a moment, Jean couldn’t find words _worthy_ of praising him, but Marco didn’t pause to hear them, anyway. They’d always spoken better with their bodies than with words. Every breath was _‘you’re perfect’,_ every move was _‘I love you’._ Jean was so caught up in feeling their unspoken language that he almost missed Marco actually _speaking,_ digging nails into the hollows of Jean’s collarbone as he panted a plea.

“Jean, baby, _touch me,_ I need to come, _please.”_

Jean obeyed, wrapping fingers around Marco’s slick hardness and pumping him mindlessly, rhythm nearly as sloppy as the erratic slapping of his hips against him.

“Come for me baby, fucking _cover_ me in it, c’mon.”

Marco dropped onto him hard, once, twice more, and then threw his head back with a cracked cry of his name. His hips locked in place, and Jean was pinned beneath him, unable to move, to escape the waves of tight heat, clenching around him as Marco came hard across his chest. And then Marco was moving again, rocking himself through what was left of his orgasm, and in that moment, Jean was glad for his fingers - still wrapped hard over Marco’s hips - because every other sense he had was _gone._ He lost himself in the waves Marco created, coming in a blinding and beautiful crash of his consciousness.

When his mind made its reappearance, he was still wrapped around his boyfriend in as many spots as he could reach, possibly even more tightly than before. Marco hovered above him for a moment, arms shaking too much to keep him upright. He dropped with a breathless sigh onto his chest, running hands over sweat-slicked skin, regardless of the mess.

“I love you so much.”

Jean raised his head just enough to press aimless kisses to whatever part of Marco’s face he could reach. “You’d _have_ to, to kiss me like this.” Jean looked between them and grimaced at the mess pooling on his stomach, at the way Marco had unknowingly spread it over both of their chests. Marco gave a winded laugh.

“You’re beautiful like this,” he said. “But let me get you cleaned up, okay? Probably not very comfortable.”

He disappeared for a moment, returning with two towels. He dropped a warm, damp one onto Jean’s chest and rubbed gentle circles until the skin was passably clean, following it with a dry towel, and a few kisses for good measure. Jean hummed his appreciation of the pampering.

“Better?” Marco cooed. Jean nodded, rolling over, and dropping his face to rest in the soft tangle of blankets and sheets beneath him.

“Much.”

They lay there together, fingers roaming over each other’s flushed skin, until Jean spotted a pen perched on Marco’s beside table. He uncapped it, laughing quietly to himself as he traced it lazily across Marco’s skin. It took Marco several minutes of being a canvas before he so much as inquired about it.

“Are you drawing on me?” He raised his head just enough to peek over his shoulder at where the pen was dragging along the skin of his back.  Jean nodded.

“Kinda.”

Marco rolled over, catching a better look at Jean’s artwork in the mirror. Lines - stems and leaves - drawn down from each pink and purple mark, giving them the look of flowers, scattered across his freckled skin. He hummed his approval. “They look kind of like tattoos.”

“I wanna get a tattoo one day,” Jean said absently, still staring at his handiwork on Marco’s back.

“Yeah?”

“Mhm. Stars, right here.” He patted at the skin of his chest, as if to point to his heart. Marco quirked an eyebrow, not sure if he should understand.

“Why stars?”

“Makes me think of you,” Jean said quietly - almost _shyly._ “The first time we kissed.” He sat back on his heels, still looking intently at Marco’s skin, pointedly avoiding his eyes. Marco shuffled closer.

“In the pool?”

“Yeah.”

“I like that idea,” he said with a wide smile, and Jean couldn’t help returning it. He relaxed against Marco, stretching out until he was lying beside him, their bodies touching head to toe. Marco sighed. “Makes me wish summer would hurry up and get here.”

Jean nodded, nudging against Marco’s shoulder. “That makes two of us.”

“What are we gonna do, though? After we tell them?” Marco asked, knowing without asking that Jean’s mind would be on the same path. Telling their families about what was _really_ going on between them was something they were both dreading, and looking forward to. It meant freedom, _relief_ \- but they didn’t know what else. Marco shuffled under a blanket. “My parents will probably kick me out or something.”

Jean tossed his arm over Marco’s neck, rolling up to stretch across his back. He pressed a seam of kisses down his neck, humming against the skin under his lips. “You can come live with me for a few months. My parents might make you crash on the couch, but it’s pretty comfy.” He grinned sheepishly. “But you already _know_ that.”

“What about after that, though? What about during college?” Marco rolled over, out from under Jean.

Jean shrugged. “We can just room together.”

“That just sounds too easy.”

“Because it is, dork. Don’t over-think shit.” Undeterred by Marco’s fidgeting, Jean hooked a leg over his hips and pushed himself up to straddle Marco’s hips. “We’re gonna live in some shitty little dorm, and eat ramen every night and have sex all over the room. And maybe study sometimes.” He winked and rolled his hips, just enough to make his point, before Marco traced a hand up his back and pulled him downward.

“Sounds like a dream come true. What are the odds that it’s actually _going_ to.”

Jean grinned. “Bet on it.”

\--

“Your parents should be home soon. I’d better go.” Jean pulled on his shoes, glancing up from tying them to see Marco curled up at the end of the bed, draped in his jacket and nothing else. He’d talked Jean into another ‘round’ before getting dressed, and this time Jean had agreed, leaving next to no time for him to dress before Marco’s parents returned. Still, it was more than worth the risk. “You look pretty damn cute in that jacket.”

Marco grinned. “Thanks. It’s my _boyfriend’s.”_

Hearing the word in Marco’s voice was still enough to make Jean shiver, but Marco looked too good for him to miss the chance to see him in it a little longer. “Hang onto it for me, will you?”

Marco’s smile vanished immediately. “It’s _freezing_ outside, Jean. You can’t leave without it.” He started to wriggle out of the jacket, but Jean threw a hand up, insistent.

“My car has heat. And I just really wanna see you in that thing at school.” He looked Marco up and down once more, biting at his knuckles and swearing under his breath. “Call it a _boyfriend_ thing.”

Finally, Marco softened. “Fair enough.” Maybe the word had as much effect on him as it did on Jean. It was a theory Jean made note to test, _later._ It the meantime, he had a drive home to make, and a goodnight kiss to leave his boyfriend with.

“Love you, Marco.”

It was whispered against warm skin, returned in kind with soft, sweet words and fingers threading with his.

“I love you, too,” Marco beamed. “Happy Valentine’s Day, sweetheart.”

“Maybe next year, we can actually do something exciting to celebrate.”

Marco rolled his eyes. “From our _ramen-and-sex_ room, yeah.”

“Don’t even act like you’re not excited.” Jean’s grin was wide enough to pull a laugh out of Marco. He shook his head and leaned in to give Jean one last kiss on the forehead as he followed him to the door.

“Have a safe trip home, babe.”

\--

Jean’s text inbox was suspiciously empty when he got home, not a single impatient text from Marco asking if he was home yet. He sent a message of his own, letting Marco know he’d arrived and that he’d be awake for a while. Once he was undressed and ready for bed, he decided the best use of his time, waiting for Marco to respond, was to enjoy the pictures they’d taken a few days before.

He was halfway through the mini gallery - just starting to feel a familiar warmth, swirling downward from his chest - when he was interrupted by a new message from Marco, pictures included. The preview text made it clear - he’d found the flowers. Even with all of his frantic emojis, that was a text Jean was willing to part with his amateur porn collection for. And if there was anything more beautiful than Marco - face flushed and features dark with lust as he posed for the camera - it was the way he glowed when he was truly happy, breathless from laughing and looking back at Jean adoringly.

 

From: Marco

11:23 PM

You made all these?!?! There are so many!!! I’m seriously never taking them out of my car, they even kinda smell good OMG

 

The pictures were priceless. Jean called him, ready to hear the infectious laughter that accompanied that beaming smile. They talked for hours, glad for the weekend ahead of them, and maybe a little too excited about homemade chocolates and paper roses.

\--

Winter’s worries melted into the blooming anxieties of spring, as the last days of school and graduation drew closer. The tension brought arguments, but nothing Jean and Marco couldn’t handle, together. They had far more pressing things to worry about than graduation practice and finals that didn’t have much bearing on their grades, anyway. Figuring out how to tackle the ‘parent problem’ was of urgent importance.

Ultimately it was simple, over-thought and then let go to work itself out, like most things between them had been. After weeks of trying to figure out how to tell his family just how important Marco really was to him, what he meant and _who he was_ to Jean, he settled on a simple act that spoke volumes more than he was able to.

He bought him flowers.

Once the ceremony had ended, and graduates and their families were free to loiter in the halls, Jean hastily retrieved a wrapped bouquet of roses from his car - beautiful, colorful, and unmistakably romantic. Gathering his courage and stifling the rising feeling of panic in his chest, he made his way over to where Marco stood talking to both of their families and handed him the flowers. No pretense, no secrecy - just a gift. And a kiss.

It was Marco who tossed his arms around Jean’s neck and pulled him close. Marco that murmured thanks between brushes of their lips. Marco that made Jean forget himself - and his surroundings - entirely, for a moment, and give in to the feeling of bliss that was _finally_ being kissed in public.

Sure, they had a bit of explaining to do after that, and to quote Marco’s mother, things were ‘definitely going to be different’ for them in the coming weeks of summer. But when Jean settled into bed that night, the last thing he saw was a picture message, of a dozen beautiful roses, held by an even more beautiful boy.

_His boyfriend._

And everybody knew it.


End file.
